


Hyperion Ranch

by Sinesthero



Series: Horses, Hot Nights, and Hard Times [2]
Category: Borderlands, Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: 1930's Ranch AU, Eventual Smut, M/M, Pining, Sexual Situations, Shenanigans, death mention, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinesthero/pseuds/Sinesthero
Summary: Young Timothy Lawrence is left to run Hyperion Ranch for the spring and summer while its owner, Handsome Jack, is off with his circus. On impulse, he hires the burly Wilhelm to work for him. Now he can't get the much older man out of his mind.





	1. Taking the Reins

Timothy pulled on his Levi’s 501 blue jeans over his skinny legs and buttoned up the fly before sliding the black leather belt through the belt loops. He absolutely adored blue jeans. They were comfortable, durable, and when he stood in front of the mirror he liked the way he looked in them.

His father, the good Doctor Herbert Lawrence, never tolerated them as he felt they were the ‘dirty uniform of the working class.’ On cousin Jack’s ranch, however, they were practically a necessity, at least for the workers.

For Tim, he did a lot more supervising than he did actual, physical work. That was the beauty of his job. The aforementioned Doctor Lawrence was, predictably, still furious that his son had not followed in his footsteps and become a doctor. They were barely on speaking terms. Cousin Jack had not only paid for him to indulge in his true passion, Classic Literature, but gave him this absolutely cushy job of running the ranch while he was off with his small circus.

There was a heavy bang at his door. A low, commanding woman’s voice spoke to him from the other side of his bedroom door. “Timothy. You wake now. Mr. Tassiter and Angel are leaving. You will want to say goodbye.”

“Coming!” Tim replied cheerfully. “I’ll be down in like a minute, Nina!”

“Don’t keep him waiting.” Nina replied. Her heavy, Russian accent often made her sound extra stern. “He does not like to wait. You know this. Chop Chop.”

“I know!” He hurried to pull on his undershirt over his broad shoulders and hurried to tuck it into his pants over his skinny hips. He hurried on a red, black and white plaid-patterned flannel shirt and buttoned it up. He drew the comb quickly through his dark brown hair. Lastly he pulled on his newly cleaned pair of black leather boots.

He ran down the stairs only to hear Jack shout at him as he made it halfway down, “No running in the house, Kiddo! Christ, how many times do I gotta tell you this shit, Timmy?”

Jack’s arms were folded across his broad chest and he was giving his ‘baby’ cousin a hard look. His already severe eye brows were angled in a cross expression.

Jack Tassiter was at least twenty years older than Tim, maybe more. Tim never asked him his exact age. He was old enough that he had a few stripes of gray in his hair that was otherwise a similar dark brown as Timothy’s. Indeed, they looked much more like brothers or father and son than first cousins. They were of a similar height, with tim being only slightly shorter. They both had the build typical of the men in the Vega side of the family, broad shoulders with narrow hips.

The most startling similarity they shared were the heterochromatic eyes where the right eye was blue and the left eye was a bright green. In both their cases it apparently skipped a generation. The only person in the family anyone knew to have such eyes was the Matriarch of the clan, Abuela Rosa, with whom both men avoided any contact.

There were differences too, but those seemed relatively minor. Tim was much skinnier and less muscular than Jack. He also had adorable freckles scattered across his face like stars in the night sky. The younger man also was possessed of less keen eyesight, a gift from his father, and wore a pair of wire rimmed spectacles.

Ready for the road, Jack was dressed in a sharp, dark grey suit with a black and yellow striped tie. His overcoat was already pulled on and a black fedora rested on his head.

Tim blushed as he was chided, “Sorry, Cousin Jack… Sir… I… was just trying to hurry down to say goodbye.” It made him genuinely nervous when Jack yelled at him. He had a lingering fear of the man that had begun on holiday leave from his second year at UCLA when he had brought home less than stellar marks for the semester. The resulting trip to the woodshed and his subsequent inability to sit down for days meant that he did everything he could to avoid upsetting his cousin and benefactor, regardless of his age.

Jack hooked him around the shoulder with one of his arms and pulled him close once he reached the bottom of the stairs, “You did good work all this winter. I think you know your stuff. That’s why I’m trusting you to run the ranch with no supervision this year.”

“I know, Sir.” Tim’s eyes were wide. “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

“Good. You better.” Jack replied, implying a nebulously defined threat. “So let’s go over the rules.”

Tim took in a deep breath and nodded so vigorously, he had to raise a hand to push his spectacles back in place, “No Cats in the house. No girls in the House. Don’t go in your room. Don’t tell Dr. Nakayama any of your personal business no matter how much he presses.”

Jack seemed vaguely please. “And no fuckin’ family. They ain’t welcome here. I don’t care if you see your parents, but don’t bring them here. I don’t want them pawin’ around in my life. Got it?”

“Got it. Shouldn’t be a problem, Sir. Dad’s still not talking to me and Mom is… you know…”

“Crazy?” Jack suggested.

Tim cracked a grin and gave a nervous chuckle, “Something like that… I have the list of the towns you’ll be in and on what dates.”

“Good, good.” Jack released him half turned towards the staircase before bellowing so loudly that Tim cringed. “Angel! Hurry it up now! We got a train to catch!” After he finished yelling for his daughter he clapped Tim hard on his back. “Remember… you’re the boss around here till I get back. Don’t let the help run roughshod over you.”

Tim nodded, “Yes sir… I won’t sir.”

Angel walked down the stairs, seeming in no particular hurry. A gorgeous young woman with intelligent blue eyes, she was dressed for travel in a long sleeved dress of pale blue fabric scattered patterned over with white and yellow daisies. The garment had a modest neckline, assuring that her tattoos were all entirely covered. A black, cloche hat covered her head concealing her hair.  She had on sturdy but fashionable boots and carried a short strapped leather purse. “You don’t have to shout dad. I was coming. I just wanted to make sure I didn't’ forget anything.” She spoke in a soft, bored monotone.

The arm crushing Timothy released him as Jack focused his attention on his daughter, “Well clearly I had to because you didn’t come down until I shouted.”

Angel moved straight to her second cousin’s side and put her arms around him, “I’m going to miss you Timothy.” She stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“I’m going to miss you too Angel.” He hugged her back gently. “Won’t be the same without you. I promise I will write. Let me know if you like the books I packed for you!”

“I’ll write too! And I will!” She declared before finally letting him go.

Jack gestured towards the door, “C’mon, Pumpkin. We’re absolutely fucked if we miss our train, Sweetie.”

“I know, Dad.” She sounded mildly exasperated as she grabbed her coat from the rack and pulled it on. “Take good care of Claptrap for me, Timothy!”

Timothy moved to get the door, “I will. I’ll take the best care of all the animals… and people… and so on.” When they had passed through he followed to stand on the porch and see them off.

Nina was already waiting in the driver's seat of the green, Chrysler Airflow, ready to take them off to the train station.

He stood there, waving back to Angel as the car pulled away. Jack turned from the driver’s side of the back seat and gave him one final ominous look before looking forward again.

Soon they were gone.

The loudest whoop he was capable of making came out of his lips as he jumped in the air with both arms raised.

Sweet, sweet freedom was now his.

*    *    *    *    *

The first couple weeks on his own were blissful. He woke up like he did every morning, early, to a hearty breakfast that Nina prepared for the two of them. He liked Nina. For the most part, she left him alone to do his work and she kept to her own.

She was rather dour, which Tim was given to understand common to people from Russia. She wore her long, dark-brown hair in large braided buns that covered her ears. She had a pleasant face, rounded with a mildly cleft chin and a rounded nose. Though she dutifully wore dresses when out in public, on the ranch she mostly wore overalls and flannel shirts. This, however, was often covered by a utilitarian apron.

In her home country she had been a nurse. She had even served in the Great War, or so Jack had told him, though she did not like to speak about it, so Tim never asked. Some time after that she had emigrated to the United States as the promises of the Communist Revolution had turned into a case of the new masters being as bad as the old.

For reasons he also never had asked about, she had never sought certification in nursing in the states. So, she found work as a housekeeper on the ranch. She tended to the chickens, milked the cow, kept a tidy garden, cooked and cleaned. Due to her medical knowledge she was the first person called in when accidents happened or illnesses occurred with both the humans and the animals. She could usually handle most simple things so that the doctor or veterinarian would not have to be called in.

Though she occasionally did the kindness of making cakes and other sweets for the Ranch hands in the bunk house, they were largely self sufficient with their own appointed cook as long as their larder was kept stocked.

Hyperion Ranch was known around the area to have a rather fine bunkhouse as far as they went. Many other Ranchers were miserly or just too plain poor to afford as nice of accommodations. There were horror stories told by some of the hands about other Ranches they had worked at where the conditions were filthy and and the food terrible.

After breakfast Tim would survey the ranch and make sure everything was getting done properly from the care and training of the horses to the tending of the hay and oats they grew for their feed. If supplies were needed he ordered them. He saw to the paying of bills and the handling of the accounts.

When all this was done he had the freedom to pursue his real passion in life, writing. Though his father had scoffed and told him his writing was a fool’s dream, Cousin Jack had always encouraged him. A part of him liked to think that the older man genuinely believed in him. He would, after all read whatever stories Tim was willing to share with him and was generally quite complimentary even if he was not always the most serious in his critiques. Nonetheless, the more cynical part of him was certain that all of Jack’s encouragement was just an expensive joke played on Doctor Lawrence.

Timothy was full of excitement. Though he had written and refined dozens of stories over the years, the past winter and spring he had finally started the work of creating his very first novel. Most of every evening he would sit at his typewriter in his bedroom at the rear of the house and plot, type, write and revise his story of a hero on a great quest to save the lands of the fey folk from the incursions of men.

The quiet of the house was conducive to getting writing done and the sounds of the machine clicking away filled the night. He positioned his writing desk in front of the large window that looked out over the back of the property. It was his own little kingdom, at least until Jack came back some time in late October.

*    *    *    *    *

As Hyperion ranch paid higher wages than most other ranches around and when one factored in the cleanliness of the bunk house and the quality of the food, all a rarity in a country still working its way out of the great Depression, there were often workers to be turned away.

Tim absolutely hated doing it. Though he was the sort of man that enjoyed a good bit of solitude, he had a large heart that wanted nothing more than to see to it that every last migrant, hobo and vagabond was cared for. Still, he knew Jack’s rules were firm so he dutifully turned away help throughout the month of April.

Near the end of the month, about three weeks after Jack and Angel had departed, an incident occurred that unfortunately cost the life of one of the hands. There was no real fault or blame. A horse got spooked by a snake and had kicked an unlucky man in the head, killing him instantly.

It was not the first time Timothy had seen a dead body, but it never stopped being a terrible, nerve wracking experience. His father had showed him the dead before, and forced him to watch surgery being performed in an attempt to ‘make a man’ out of his him and try to pressure him into the medical profession. It never took.

He managed to at least appear calm as he took in the caved in forehead of the dead man. He dutifully talked to the men and arranged for the worker to be respectfully wrapped in a blanket, placed into a truck, and driven into town and delivered to the coroner's office.

He made it through the back door into the kitchen before his knees began weak and stomach could no longer withstand the churning. He had to hold the counter tightly as he threw up into the sink.

When there was nothing left in his stomach, the weakness overtook him and he sank to the floor, weeping. He did not know the man well, though he knew he had family that he would have to write to give the terrible news; family that probably depended on income sent home to them. He would send them a small bit of cash for their loss. Jack would not be opposed to that, at least he hoped.

Some time after Nina appeared. She clucked her tongue at him as she approached, “Oh Little Bear. Tsk. So soft. So tender. Let Nina help you.” She bent down and easily pulled him up to his feet, settling him in one of the chairs at the small kitchen table where they took their meals.

Embarrassed, he immediately crossed his forearms and put his head down on them, trying to muffle his cries and avoid showing her his face. Her heavy footsteps carried her away from him to the cupboard. There the soft clink of glasses being knocked together. He could hear her pour something and set down a bottle. She gave the back of his neck a surprisingly gentle pat.

While he worked calming himself, he could hear Nina doing something in the refrigerator. She was, no doubt, fixing him some food. When he lifted his head he found she had set before him a shotglass full of clear alcohol from a bottle marked only in Russian words. There was a kitchen towel next to him which he picked up and used to blot his eyes and blow his nose.

Nina was by the counter, making him a cold chicken sandwich. She glanced over her shoulder at him and said, “Is vodka… you drink it. Will calm you.”

Timothy swallowed hard and was not sure that his stomach could handle the shot, but the promise of alcohol soothing his nerves made him take it anyway. It burned and he almost threw it up again as soon as it went down. He managed to keep it down.

Nina set the plate with the sandwich in front of him before going to pour him a glass of cold milk.

He blew his nose again on the towel and took a breath. “Sorry… I just...”

“You are okay… and Rawlins feels no pain anymore. Nothing to be done.” she clapped him on the shoulder and sat down across from him. she poured herself a shot in the other glass and downed ot quickly.

Timothy picked up the sandwich and took a bite. He chewed it a long time before forcing himself to swallow. “Thank you, Nina… I just… boy… I know stuff happens. But seeing him like that.”

“Is hard for you. Nina understands.” she poured herself another shot. “In the morning, you will hire a replacement. Gonzales and Svenson have gone to take the body to town. Everything must go on.”

Timothy nodded faintly and kept eating the sandwich. The small bit of alcohol was enough to take the edge off. The milk helped settle his stomach. “Yeah… tomorrow. I’ll find a new man.”

Nina poured him another shot. He  drank it, gratefully. When he was finished eating, she advised him to go rest.

He tried to compose a letter of condolence to the family before sleeping but the words failed him as they seldom did. He flung himself down onto his bed and went to sleep.

*    *    *    *    *

The morning came too soon. Most of the night Timothy tossed and turned restlessly, unable to get the image of the man’s smashed face out of his head. Just when he was finally sleeping well, the rooster started to crow. This had the unfortunate effect of causing the damnable mule, Claptrap, to start braying frantically.

Tim went through the typical morning routine like an automaton, barely able to focus on anything as he washed up, brushed his teeth and dressed.

Nina was already awake, as usual,  and there was the enticing smell of coffee brewing and sausages frying in the pan as he headed down stairs of the large farmhouse to the entry parlor.

He was startled into wakefulness as someone knocked heavily on the front door, causing him to pause in his trip to the kitchen.

Nina appeared in the kitchen doorway, but Tim waved her off. “I'll get it. You just keep making whatever it is that smells so good.”

She nodded and returned back to her cooking.

The knock came again before Tim called out, “Coming!” He swung open the door and found himself in open mouthed awe of the man standing there.

Timothy was not by any stretch of the imagination what one would call short, but this man made him feel small. He was at least a foot taller than Tim, with a broad, barrell chest and biceps thicker around than Tim’s thighs.

A black’ leather eye patch covered his right eye, with lines of long faded scarring radiating out toward his ear from underneath. The man bore a straight, black beard with no accompanying moustache. A thick stripe of silver hair was at the center. It came down to points on either side of his chin. His hair was combed back and also was black with large swaths of silver over his ears.

His face, even if it were without the eye patch, seemed rugged and bordered on dangerous. High, well defined cheekbones framed his wide nose and mouth. Thick, black brows were set seriously over his grey eye.

He was dressed simply in a pair of work-worn, faded jeans, brown boots that had seen better days and a long-sleeved shirt of grey flannel. The first couple buttons were open, revealing a tuft of chest hair. Black suspenders kept his pants up.

Timothy could not think of any man who exuded such an aura of machismo and power. Cousin Jack came close, but he was family. It so overwhelmed him that he could not find the words to speak properly. “Can I do you?” he stammered out before his face went utterly red and he corrected himself, “I mean… what can I do for you?”

The man cracked a grin at his nervousness and politely took a step back, as though he were worried he was intimidating the younger fellow. His voice was gruff and rumbling.  Something in the way he talked made it clear he came from the working class. “Sorry to bug you, Mister. I was wondering if I could speak to the master of the property.”

Tim’s voice picked an inopportune time to turn squeaky as he said, “I’m the man of the house.” He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak lower and cooler, like Cousin Jack. “I mean… I don’t own the place. That’s my cousin Jack, but I _am_ the man in charge.”

“Sorry… Didn’t mean any offence. You just… look a little young to be running a ranch.” He said, looking a bit embarrassed.

“No no,” Tim said quickly. Down off the porch he spotted the man’s traveling case and he realized what he was there for, “It’s fine… are you… looking for work?”

“Yes Sir.” He nodded. “I don’t mean to bother… I was told by some of the fellahs from up here yesterday that you were looking for help… Due to some… tragic circumstances.”

Tim’s eyes widened, “Oh… that was fast…” He observed. He swallowed and noted that his throat felt dry and tight.

The man nodded. “Word travels quick when there’s a job opening… and I’ve heard a good reputation about this place. They say the man who owns this place is called Handsome Jack… and that he’s uncommonly kind for a Rancher.”

“Just… one… minute,” Tim said. Turning back to the kitchen he called, “Nina, I’ll be in in a bit.”

“Da!” She called back loudly.

He stepped out onto the porch into the warm morning air and pulled the door closed behind him. “I’m uh… Timothy Lawrence.” He thrust out his hand.

“Pleased ta meet ya, Mister Lawrence.” The giant man’s hand engulfed Tim’s own easily. “I’m Wilhelm Jaeger.”

Timothy found his mind drifting at the size of the man’s hands. Many times he had been told that his own were exceptionally large and yet he felt like his looked like a child’s by comparison. He was confronted with the thought that this man, whose like he had never seen the equal, was officially his type. In his heart of hearts he knew the job already belonged to this man if he wanted it, though he felt at least the need to keep up a pretense. “Uh… Call me Tim,” He said as he reluctantly let go of his hand.

Wilhelm nodded, “Sure thing, Tim. You can call me Wil.”

Timothy’s heart was beating so loudly he was sure the other man could hear it. “Uhm Yes… ahem… Wil.” He smiled weakly and gestured to the bench, “Have a seat.” He settled himself into the rocking chair and forced himself to look out towards the distant road.

There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence.

Wilhelm broke it when he said, “I… understand you raise horses here. For movies and the like.”

Tim looked back at him, “Yeah… we… sure do. Do you have… you know… experience working with horses… uh… and what kind of work have you done in general?”

“I do,” the man grinned, “Grew up on a farm, with work horses. Also, back in the war I worked with artillery. The big guns. Had to work teams of horses to move em.”

“You were in the war?” Tim’s eyes lit up and suddenly he found himself staring at the man’s eyepatch and surrounding scars.

Wilhelm laughed, a booming sound. Everything he said had a sort of resonance to it that Tim found absolutely pleasing, “I didn’t get this.” He pointed to his eye, “tending a garden.”

“I suppose not,” Tim could feel the heat in his cheeks and knew he was blushing again. He tried his best to sound serious and businesslike, “So you’re… well versed in the care of horses and the sort of work required on a ranch?”

He nodded, “Yes, Sir. I’ve been working on ranches the past ten years or so. Before that I worked out East in the stock yards. I got a lot of skills and I think I’d make a good addition to your crew.”

Tim nodded and pretended to think about it. “Well… you’re certainly… large… I imagine you're pretty strong.”

“Heh. You can say that,” Wilhelm said, looking amused, though it seemed he was trying to hold it in, lest he offend the young man and not get the job. “It’s been a rough few months for me, but I’m not looking for charity. I work hard. I’ll do whatever you need done.”

Tim blurted out, “You’re hired.” He coughed, “I mean… you’re the first one to show up. That shows… initiative.” He nodded firmly.

A beaming smile stretched out the man’s wide mouth even further, “You won’t regret this, Boss.”

“I’m sure I won’t.” Tim said, trying to force any giddy look off of his face as he got back to his feet. “Just follow that path there around the main house and down to the bunk house. Tell Robbins I hired you on. He’ll let you know about pay, get you a bunk and show you about the place. I’ll… check in with you later.”

Wilhelm rose as well and put a hand out Tim again, “Thanks for givin’ an old soldier a chance.”

Timothy swallowed and took the man’s hand and shook it. “Why it's only the decent, patriotic thing to do right? You fought off the Huns for Uncle Sam.” He realized only belatedly that this man was clearly of Germanic descent and thus it was rather on the rude side to insult his ancestors so.

Unfortunately, Jack used every pejorative term for every ethnicity that had ever been invented and in the past several years of hanging about the man some of that had rubbed off.

Wilhelm, however, seemed to find it amusing and chuckled. “We sure licked ‘em good. Have a good morning, Boss. I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” With that he turned and made his way down the stairs.

Tim folded his arms and watched him walk away, his eyes being drawn to the way the denim clung to Wilhelm’s backside as he made for the bunk house.

He felt his stomach sink as wondered what Jack would think of the hire. Lingering fear of his cousin was at least enough to wither away the tenting that had started at the front of his pants. He hurried into the house and leaned his back against the front door. In a high pitched, anxious tone, he said to himself  “ _Ho boy_.”  


	2. Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deed is done. The hand is hired. Will Jack approve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My work life is super hard right now, but I'm still truckin' along.

Timothy’s mind was now filled with a mad rush of exhilaration and panic. He had to admit to himself that he had hired that man entirely on the basis of pure primal urges. It was only fair. The man was built like a god. Every single thing about him seemed powerful and masculine. 

Even if he was half as hard a worker as he looked like he ought to be, it ought be enough to satisfy Jack, or at least he dearly hoped. 

There was much riding on his good performance in this job. If he did poor work and made too many questionable decisions there was a strong chance that he wouldn’t get paid to mind the ranch anymore. Without that income to support his writing, he might even be faced with the terrifying specter of having to get a real job. 

Distracted, he walked into the sunlight kitchen and made straight for the pot of coffee. When it was poured he added a touch of cream. His voice came out as a squeak as he spoke, “So… I made a hire.” 

Nina had a hard, inscrutable face the majority of the time. She seldom gave away much in the way emotion. “Nina saw him. Looks like Ox. Strong, but old,” she shrugged, like she may as well have been discussing the horseflesh rather than a ranch hand. 

Timothy protested, “He’s not that old. He is a veteran. They… deserve our… patriotic… recognition of their sacrifices.” He wanted to justify this to himself as well as Nina. 

Nina shrugged as she set two plates of fried potatoes, toast and eggs on the table. “Is your concern.” 

With a hard swallow, Tim fixed Nina a cup of black coffee. “I guess… you’re right on that. I think Cousin Jack will approve.”

The older woman made no reply. She merely settled herself at the kitchen table and sprinkled some salt from the table shaker onto her potatoes. 

When they were both seated, Tim looked out the window while blowing on his coffee. One of the hands was out moving one of the Stallions from the barn closest to the house to one of the paddocks.

Nina pulled the newspaper closer to herself. Her eyes shifted to the print and she started to read.

“If he doesn’t work out I can fire him,” he nodded firmly to himself and looked to Nina, “Right?” 

“Do you truly want Nina’s advice? Or do you wish me to rubber stamp your choices.” Nina looked up from the folded paper.

“The former, your honest advice, I’d appreciate it.” He smiled shyly. 

“What’s done is done,” She said with her generally fatalistic outlook, “There is little to do but see that this… what was his name?” 

Tim’s mind utterly blanked for a moment he looked dazed. It came to him shortly after. “Wilhelm Jaeger.” 

“We will see what this Wilhelm Jaeger can do. If he performs well… he stays. If he does not, he goes.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Now eat,” she commanded. “Is no good cold.” 

Obediently, he ate, not wanting to aggravate her further. He was now sure that she resented him. She used to have the final say in everything when Jack was away. Now all that power was taken from her and vested in this weak little shadow of the real man that ran this place. 

It was, however, equally possible that all of this was in his mind and the grim woman was merely apathetic to his woes. He was deeply aware of his own tendency to overthink everything and attribute motives that were not there to other people. 

There was silence as she read the paper and he forced food down at the fastest pace possible so he might go somewhere quiet and think. Perhaps then his heart would stop racing. It was the first major decision he had made in his short tenure. It was natural to be nervous about it. 

The roar of motorcar could be heard making its way up the driveway, certainly going too fast for all good sense of safety.

Nina was on her feet in a moment; a Smith and Wesson .45 caliber pistol suddenly in her hand. 

Timothy swallowed anxiously and stayed put. The thought of anyone wanting to kill them seemed absurd, but Nina was always ready. 

She peered out the window over the sink at the to see who it might be. She turned, cursing under her breath in her mother tongue just as the blaring of an elaborately musical car horn tore through the air with aural violence. 

Timothy blinked rapidly at Nina, his apprehension transforming into excitement. That horn could mean only one person. “She’s back, already?” He jumped up from his seat and said, “Thanks for breakfast, Nina, I’ll see you later at lunch!”

Still muttering, Nina returned to the breakfast table and slid her weapon away into its hidden holster. 

As Tim stepped out into the dry air of the California morning, the automobile door was flung open dramatically. 

Aurelia Hammerlock did nothing without an excess of style and grace. The very act of her slowly letting herself out of her own splendid vehicle screamed elegance. She was tall and statuesque with perfectly-coiffed, short, black hair that bore a dramatic stripe of white up the front. In spite of that, she did not seem particularly old or young. She simply was. 

Her perfect skin was a warm, light brown though her eyes were frigidly blue. There was something about the way she looked at everyone that made it instantly and abundantly clear that they were not on her level. Though from a family of relative wealth, Timothy’s family was pauper-like by comparison to the level of the Hammerlock family. At least this made Timothy something approaching an equal. 

She was dressed to ride in a proper English riding outfit. Her coat was dark blue and tailored expertly with the best craftsmanship money can buy. The cravat that peaked out at her neck was snowy white. Tan jodhpurs clung to her legs where they were met by knee high boots of fine, black leather. 

She intimidated him in every possible way. That was not particularly hard, as he was easily cowed. “I didn’t expect you back so soon, Aurelia! How lovely to see you! How was England?” His words came out a bit fumbling. 

Though born to an American mother, she spoke with the crisp accent of her father’s native land. “Timothy, Darling!” Arthur Hammerlock was a wealthy British industrialist whose fortunes had mostly survived the great Stock Market crash. 

Her mother was an African-American Opera Singer who had enchanted her future-spouse with her dramatic coloratura soprano singing while performing in London. 

As soon as they met Aurelia took him by the chin with her white-gloved hands and tilted his head back, as though she might kiss him right on the lips. Her smile held as much warmth as it was capable of. Her lips gave him the softest of kisses on the cheek. As she released him, her face took on an obvious air of pity, “You’ve absolutely become one of these peasants. It’s sad. I miss your smart little sweater vests, tall socks and the reek of academia about you. Ah, well. England was dull. I much prefer the Pacific air.” 

Tim laughed, nervously. He knew what he was expected to do so he gave her a kiss on each cheek. When he stepped back he said, “It’s nice to have you back. We missed you.”

“Oh, you’re ‘we’ now?” She gave a little laugh of mirth, “Are you Royal, or is speaking for Jack granted you that level of authority?” 

“I missed you.” He corrected himself as he ducked his head and grinned. “And my college wardrobe would be terrible for this work.” 

“One of these days, dear boy, we’ll dress you up proper and go to the city again. We had such fun the last time, didn’t we?”  

“Oh I did! The movie premiere was amazing. I would love to go to something like that again.” He stepped back from her and folded his arms in front of himself for lack of knowing what else to do with them. She made him feel like a child much the way cousin Jack did. 

“I’ll arrange it.” She nodded firmly. “I suppose I ought get to work. Hopefully, the lesser trainers here haven’t given the creatures bad habits.” 

Tim smiled, “I’ve been keeping my eye on them. They’ve been following your rules to the letter, I’ve made sure of it.” 

“Excellent! I shall begin at once.” She turned on her heel and headed for the largest of the barns. 

Timothy left her to her work. He decided it was time to make his customary riding tour around the Ranch. It was his favorite part of the day as it meant he got to spend some time with his own personal horse, Bandit. 

Bandit was a very sweetly tempered paint horse. She had been a gift from Jack to celebrate Tim’s very first day on the ranch. It was the summer after his last year of High School, when he had made the decision to defy his father and go to college to study the writing and the classics. Doctor Lawrence had never allowed his so much as a puppy. Cousin Jack offered animals of all kinds and the freedom to pursue what he loved. It had been an easy choice.

Even after six years together, Tim never stopped being utterly enchanted with her. As he made his way to the east end of the property, he spotted the foreman speaking to the newly hired veteran. It made his heart beat faster and he felt the tightness of his expanding cock in his jeans. 

He sucked in his stomach, not that he really had much of one and puffed out his chest as much as possible, trying to make himself look imposing and heroic as he rode by. He was no great equestrian, but he had been around long enough to have a solid relationship with Bandit. 

“Gentlemen!” he lifted the brim of the straw Stetson hat and when his eyes met the singular eye of the large man Tim did something that would shock himself only moments later. He winked.

Wilhelm’s wide mouth pulled up into a grin and he raised a hand to waive at his employer.

Tim urged Bandit to go on faster, desperate to get as far away as possible. The ride was nothing resembling peaceful anymore. All he could do was question to himself why he had done that. 

Still, he continued on his way. He stopped here and there, to talk to other workers. Mostly just pleasantries, though there were some questions and concerns that Tim fielded with the best of his ability.

It was coming on lunch time when Tim lead bandit back to the stable. This one was the smallest of all of them and housed mostly personal animals of the household. Claptrap the mule lived here as did the solitary milk-cow. 

The stocky giant was hard at work, efficiently mucking out a stable. Tim supposed the foreman gave him the least glamorous job in the least glamorous barn because he was new. It was the way of things among the working class. You had to prove you can pay your dues as the new guy on a crew. 

Tim was robbed of speech by his nerves and busied himself with returning Bandit to her newly cleaned stall. 

“Hey…” The gruff voice came from behind him. 

Even though Tim knew he was there he startled a bit anyway. As he turned he said casually, “Oh Hey… Hi. Hello there. I see they got you all started already. Sorry I didn’t come by and show you around more, but it looks like they got you situated.” 

“No trouble, Boss. You got a lot to look after around here. Nice place.” Even though he was talking, he did not pause in his labors any. 

“Thank you. It is very nice. The challenge is keeping it that way while my cousin is out with the circus.” 

Wilhelm’s laughter was like gravel, low and earthy, “I thought they were pullin’ my leg in the bunk house when they told me your cousin was a Ringmaster.”

“Oh no,” Tim smiled and started to remove the saddle. 

“Let me do it for you, Boss.” Wilhelm offered as he left the empty stall and moved around into Bandit’s.

“Ah, Thank you.” He felt like he was blushing again, especially as Wilhelm moved into the space next to him. Their arms brushed together, until Tim shied away and moved to stroke Bandit’s nose.  

Wilhelm efficiently worked at removing the saddle and tack. There was no doubt to be left that he had done this kind of work before. 

Relief washed over Tim as he became certain he had made the right decision in hiring him. That was overshadowed by the anxiety caused by standing next to the big man.

“You really raise horses for the pictures here? Is that true, too?” He seemed friendly for all the intimidating nature of his appearance. There was something so magnetic about the combination of his raw masculinity and amiable demeanor. 

Tim found himself staring at the man’s face, distracted by poetic thoughts as to how the old veteran was like unto Zeus, father of the Olympians. His eyes trailed down his neck to the triangle of greying chest hair that was visible below his throat where his collar was left unbuttoned. Only belatedly did he process the words that were spoken. 

Nervous to his core, Tim dug deep within himself to try to sound cool. The only way he knew how to do that was to try to sound like cousin Jack. He clicked his tongue, and extended his forefinger out like it were the barrel of a gun and pretended to shoot the taller man.  “We sure do. Trained stunt horses for film and entertainment, Pal. The finest stock in all Hollywood.”

“I’ll be damned.” He chuckled.

Tim watched the hand work a long moment before the urge to hurry away came to him. He would have preferred to continue the conversation but he could not think up any plausible excuse to do so. “Well… I should go. Will you make sure he has water and oats for me? Brush him down nicely?” 

“Yes Sir,” Wilhelm looked at Timothy with his one eye and blinked so slowly that it was utterly unclear if it was actually a blink or a return wink. 

Unsure if a one eyed man could even wink, Tim turned and hurried out.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of eating, record keeping and managerial work. It was good busy brainwork that kept him from dwelling too much on the events of the morning. There were phone calls to be returned and events to be coordinated. 

The phone calls used to be the bane of his existence, when he struggled to sound to sound like a man who should be taken at all seriously. Though Cousin Jack’s glib tongue did not come to him naturally, he had spent enough time around the Ringmaster to be able to fake it. At this point he was utterly certain that he could just pretend to be Jack and half of his contacts would be none the wiser. 

After dinner, when his duty free hours began, he sat down to continue his most current draft of his manuscript. 

The pages did not want to come that night. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. The muse for writing was a fickle mistress. Some nights he could fly through pages of raw text with ideas flowing. Other times, he spent hours meticulously crafting a few beautiful sentences.  

Some nights, the well ran completely dry. He had positioned the paper in the Royal typewriter and though he was several times poised to do so, he had yet to make a single keystroke. His hand, instead, was scratching over the head of a cat in loaf-shaped repose. 

The silver-striped feline purred loudly, vibrating under his fingers and tilting her head this way and that to best take advantage of his petting.

It was not just that he could not write, it was that he could not even keep his thoughts occupied upon his story. The trials of his dashing hero were taking a back seat to the thoughts of the man he had hired on that morning. 

The wooden chair was slid back from the desk and he got to his feet. He gathered his notes off of the desk and carefully put them a thick portfolio before putting it away on a shelf. The notes were too precious to be left to the possible ravages of cats. They contained his world building notes, character sketches, maps, and previous drafts.

It wasn’t like himself, he reasoned, as he picked up the cat and carried her in his arms around the room, like he were dancing with a graceful companion. She put up with his antics for a short time before struggling to go free with a soft, “prrrrppt.”  

Timothy sighed and set her down on his bed before sitting down next to his illicit companion. “Ugh. What’s wrong with me, Muffett?” He asked her. 

“Mau.” She replied, before her purr rumbled to life again and she head butted his thigh. 

“I haven’t been this worked up… in a … long time… this isn’t like me. I know you’ve had probably dozens of kittens by god knows how many filthy Toms, but I’ve always been able to eschew… entanglements.” 

Muffett fell over sideways and rolled onto her back to show him her pale underbelly.

Tim tickled her under her chin, knowing that the sight of her belly was not an invitation to touch it. It had taken him a few too many tries to finally decide the area was off limits. 

“What am I even talking about… it’s just… a harmless crush. I’ve had them before…” He went silent, shifting his monologue shifted back to internal. There was no harm, surely, in indulging himself in a little bit of eye candy. It would surely all come to the same thing all of his crushes did, which was absolutely nothing. 

A sigh escaped from he stroked the cat’s soft, well groomed fur. His mind tried to tease out the reason he was so attracted to the stranger to begin with. In all his years since moving in with Cousin Jack, he had seen dozens of ranch hands come and go, but he had yet to see such a ruggedly handsome, titan of a man as Wilhelm. 

It was not just that, though. The man was battle scarred. Those scars and the lines of age in his face had stories to tell and Timothy loved nothing better than a good story. How he would love just to talk to him and hear the tales of devastation and bravery and far off Europe in that dark time of war. 

Tim felt a heat rising in him. He rose from the bed and gently picked up Miss Muffett. “I… love you, you cute little biscuit, but I need… the room.” His face flushed as he carried her over to the window. He opened it with one hand and ushered her through onto the roof. 

Muffett meowed at this indignity. As soon as it seemed clear he was shutting the window on her, she padded down the slope of the roof and jumped down to a tree branch. 

Tim pulled the curtains shut tight, biting his lip. His erection was straining the front of his pants as he shuffled over to the door and turned the lock. 

It was pointless, since no one would bother him. Nina never came in unannounced and never so late at night, but he still felt incredibly shy about undressing. He pushed the light switch to turn off the overhead light. With only his desk lamp still lit, he unfastened his jeans and shoved them down his legs before slipping off his slippers so he could remove them entirely. He pulled his t shirt up over his head and threw it in his hamper. One of his socks made it into the basket. One did not.

He slid off his boxer shorts last, reaching one hand down between his legs to squeeze and knead his erection for a moment, desperate to give it some pleasurable attention. He planted one knee on the bed and leaned down to pick up the jar of Jergens lotion he stashed behind his night stand. 

Prize in hand, he flopped without ceremony onto his back causing his circumcised cock to bounce against his belly. He unscrewed lid and dipped a few fingers into scoop out the pale, white cream. The slickened hand reached down to take a hold of his cock. His fingers glided up and down its length, coating it in the slippery wetness that made the friction so much more pleasurable. The rest of the jar was clumsily put on the night stand. Tim’s head sank back against the pillow and his eyes closed. 

Touching himself was the greatest pleasure Timothy had ever known. He struggled to imagine what it would really be like to have himself held tight by another man or woman, naked and entwined. How much more amazing must it be to be kissed and squeezed with desperate passion.

What might those two giant hands feel like, holding him down. What would it feel like to be kissed by those wide lips. 

His mind had long ago been trained to tell stories, so it was easily visualized.

The Titan’s thick muscles flexing as strong hands held the younger man down, claiming and ravishing him like Zeus and Ganymede from the mythology of the ancient Greeks. Lips sliding against lips. Tongues probing. Hands groping. 

His sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit it gently as his hips pushed up off of the bed to meet the sturdy pumping of his hand up and down his pulsing length.

“Oh God,” Tim whispered as he looked down at himself. It seemed so shameful and obscene. He was naked on top of the blanket fisting his dick; sinfully accompanied by the squelching sound of the lotion that lubricated his loins. That very tawdriness somehow made it all the more erotic.

Fantasies soon turned to the sort of cock Wilhelm might have. Would it be proportionally large?  What would it feel like to touch Wilhelm’s dick, or more scandalously, take that dick into his mouth. The pumping of his hand increased in speed as he imagined the endless possibilities of lovemaking. 

Nina’s room was far enough away on a lower floor that he allowed himself a whining little moan. His face was flushed in the warm night air, starting to sweat at the exertion. Precome spilled from his swollen head 

He imagined Wilhelm on top of him, holding him down against the bed easily, his lips and teeth at the back of his neck as he slowly worked his way inside of him, rutting into him like a feral thing, a wild animal. 

His breathing turned shallow and his wrist started to ache, but he could not stop now. Toes curling against the mattress, Timothy stroked himself intensely and moaned far louder than he intended as he finally slipped over the edge into a powerful orgasm. Cum splashed wetly against his chest and stomach. Still, his large hand kept squeezing and kneading, though slower now. Gradually he slacked off the pace before letting himself fall slack against the bed. 

Breathing deeply, he stared, blankly at his ceiling while the aftershocks caused his spent cock to switch as it slowly softened. It was a beautiful fantasy, at least. 

A sigh escaped from his throat as a sinking pang of loneliness struck him.  At the rate he was going he would be lucky if he ever got anyone to be intimate with him.

In time, he slunk off the bed to wash himself up and put on his pajamas. Before climbing into bed, he propped open his window in the hopes that Muffett or one of the other barn cats might come up and sleep next to him.


End file.
